


Rain and Snow

by elfgirl931



Series: Kyra Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfgirl931/pseuds/elfgirl931
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Leandra's death, Kyra can't find peace, and Fenris doesn't know how to help her. A night out in the rain helps them come close, but it might take a night in the snow to help them pick up the pieces and realize what's important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Rain

      Kyra felt that she had to go out at night. Sleep still brought the dreams of her mother tottering towards her on stiff legs, her head stitched onto her body, and those milky eyes staring at her. It had been almost a year since that terrible day, but she still found herself lying awake every night in her silent, lonely mansion, by turns restless and exhausted.

      Only fighting could bring Kyra anywhere close to peace. The flash of her daggers, her quick footsteps and shadowed movements were a simple rhythm that required no thought. _At least I’m doing something good_ , she thought each night. _Ridding the streets of thugs is better than lying uselessly in bed_.

      Tonight, the filth of Kirkwall was temporarily washed away by a cool, gentle summer rain. Kyra welcomed the freshness it brought to the air and the way it cleansed the stench of the city, at least temporarily. By the time she got to the Hanged Man, the steady fall of raindrops had soaked her to the skin. She slicked back her dark hair and shook some of the water out of it as she walked in the door and up the stairs to Varric’s suite. He and Isabela lounged at the usual table, one writing and the other nursing a tankard. They both grinned lazily at her as she approached them.

      “Well, look what came crawling out of the rain,” drawled Isabela, pulling out a chair for Hawke. “Honestly, can’t you give it a rest for one night? _Tell_ me you haven’t got a mission for us right now.”

      “No, I’m just going for a walk tonight. I thought I’d stop by and see if either of you wanted to come along.” Kyra straddled the chair and leaned her chin on the back rest, watching her friends expectantly.

     Varric looked up from his papers, pausing the scratching of his quill. “I think that by ‘walk’ you mean ‘make the Dog Lords in Hightown beg for your mercy,’ am I right?” he asked sardonically.

      Kyra shrugged. “You know me too well, Varric. So what do you think?”

      “Sorry, love,” answered Isabela, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Not interested in getting wet tonight. At least not in the way that _you’re_ talking about,” she added saucily as she got up and sauntered towards the bar. “Maybe next time.”

      Varric was already shaking his head when Kyra turned back to him. “Maybe you should listen to her, Hawke,” he said with unexpected gentleness. “Take a rest. You’ve been going non-stop for a while now, don’t think we haven’t noticed. And besides, it’s pouring out there. You’ll have me clucking like a mother hen when you catch your death of cold.”

      This time her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just drizzling outside. And I’m fine.”

     “I know I’m the last person who should be saying this, but it isn’t healthy to go looking for trouble the way you’ve been doing lately. Come on, just stay here and have a drink or two on me. I can tell you about the time when Bianca and I got stuck in the Frostback mountains in the dead of winter with no flint and tinder.”

     Kyra was already standing up and pushing her chair back towards the table. “Another time.” The dwarf half rose from his seat to follow, but she waved him back. “It’s all right, I’ll go find Aveline or someone. Goodbye.” She was out the tavern door before he could say anything else.

      She directed her steps towards Hightown as the rain pattered softly across her body. She really had intended to go to the Barracks and see if Aveline was in, but she changed her mind in the mansion district. _I can take care of myself. If no one wants to get wet in the rain, I’ll just blow off some steam by myself_.

      Her first victim came hurtling around the corner just a few minutes later: a large, slavering mabari hound with soaking wet fur. Kyra smelled it before she saw it, and turned her shoulder towards it as it leapt at her throat, using its momentum to hurl it to the ground. Her dagger ended its life quickly.

      Two Dog Lords thundered into the square, weapons drawn. “You’ll pay for that, you little bitch,” one shouted over the rain. Kyra stared them down until they came running at her, waiting till the last possible second before their swords bit into her neck, and then lunged forward, knocking them both to the ground with her outstretched daggers. The rain quickly washed their blood away from the pavement and her daggers, and she walked on without a backward glance.

      Two more groups tried to ambush her as she made her way uptown, and she made sure they bled for it. She always waited for them to attack first, and never killed them unless it was to save her own life, but in the pauses between bouts, she knew deep down that Varric was right: she was looking for trouble.

 _Don’t go looking for trouble unless you want to find it, Kyra._ Leandra’s voice sounded in her head, bringing a little twinge of pain to her heart. Her mother had said this a thousand times while she was growing up, and somehow she had never learned.

      “Well, mother, I certainly found some trouble tonight,” she muttered to herself. She stood in the middle of a deserted Hightown square, with the rain falling just as steadily as ever, and surrounded by a ring of angry Dog Lords and their snarling mabari hounds. Kyra crossed her daggers in front of her and dropped into a fighting crouch, rolling deftly through the legs of one gang member. As she rolled, she pulled a smoke bomb out of the pouch at her hip and let it go. She found her rhythm of flashing knives and quick feet, moving through the smoke like a ghost. The Dog Lords dropped one by one, their coughing cut off abruptly by her daggers.

      When the smoke cleared, Kyra leaned against a wall and tipped up her face towards the cool rain, letting it wash away her adrenaline. She suddenly felt exhausted right down to her bones and wished she’d never come out in the first place. _I won’t find peace here._

….

      Fenris sat listening to the patter of rain outside the open window, staring into his fireplace. He enjoyed the cooling breezes that broke the oppressive humidity hanging over Kirkwall, but the rain seemed to prevent anything exciting happening. It was too much of a bother to go to the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace, and it was surely far too much to hope for that Hawke would turn up with a mission. His reading lesson wasn’t for another three days. Not that he was counting.

      Just the brief thought of Hawke brought her face to the front of his mind. He thought of her glossy dark hair curling around her shoulders, her brown eyes watching him quietly and intently, her surprised laughter at something Varric would say, her clever, animated hands…. Inevitably Fenris then thought of her lips and then the soft skin of her neck, and _that spot_ on her shoulder where he had kissed her that night, which further drew his memory to the way she’d sighed his name and clung to him with her fingers threaded in his hair….

 _Fasta vass!_ Nearly three years later and he was still reliving that night. No matter how much he ignored the memories and tried to act normally around Hawke, he knew he would never be the same. He wished beyond anything to be close to her again, but held himself at an agonizing distance – unable to mend what he had done to her, but unable to leave her side.

     Fenris stood and crossed the room to one of the windows, leaning on the sill and thrusting his arm out into the rain. He splashed some cool rainwater on his reddened face and ears, trying to push away the memory of Hawke’s warm skin pressed flush against his.

     After shaking his head a few times, he heard faint shouts cutting through the patter of the rain. He craned his neck out the window, mildly interested in who would be disturbing the haughty peace and quiet of Hightown at night.

…„„,…„„„,. …. … …..

     Kyra pushed away from the wall, all of the fight draining out of her. She couldn’t remember feeling so tired in her life, and the cool rain had raised goose bumps all over her body. Before she could leave the cover of the awning and begin the walk home, the quiet creak of an opening door stopped her. Her hands immediately went to her daggers, and she whirled to face whoever was coming out.

      Unfortunately she hadn’t planned for her wet hair whirling with her and slapping over her eyes. Startled, she took one step too many and collided with a very solid piece of armor. She pushed herself back with all her strength, but a pair of strong hands grabbed her upper arms and steadied her before letting go. Hawke dashed her hair out of her eyes to see Fenris standing in his doorway, regarding her impassively.

      Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the absurdity of the situation. She’d had no idea that she’d come so far uptown, let alone stopped to rest in front of _Fenris’s_ house – the last person she wanted to face right now. Surely he’d think that she was trying to get his attention, or that she was too pathetic to leave him alone.

     “Fenris,” she said numbly, unable to think of anything else to say. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, and she wanted nothing more to sink into the earth, if nothing else so he would stop _looking_ at her like that.

     “Hawke,” he responded, his voice as level as ever. He looked over her shoulder to the carnage in the square. “I ought to have known it was you out here.”

      “That’s me. Just follow the trail of bodies,” she said with an attempt at levity. She smoothed her hair back in the moment or two of uncomfortable silence. “I suppose I should go.”

      “Wait…. Come out of the rain and warm yourself.”

      Kyra was sure her ears had stopped working. “What?”

      “I merely said… you should not be about tonight.” Fenris seemed determined to rub all of the hair off the back of his neck, and a flush was rising on his cheeks.

      “I won’t bother you, Fenris. I swear I didn’t even know this was your house, I didn’t mean to come this far uptown, it’s just that the rain – “

      “I insist,” he interrupted, taking hold of her upper arm again and guiding her firmly into the dry mustiness of the mansion. The sound of the rain was immediately muffled when he shut the door behind them, and he let go of her arm in the same motion. Kyra didn’t notice the way his hand clenched in on itself after letting go of her.

….. …. …..

       Her skin was cool and still wet from the rain. Fenris couldn’t imagine why this was so significant to him, unless it was to compare it with the last time he’d touched her. Last time, her skin had been warm, even bordering on hot in some places. He closed his eyes, willing the memories away – there was no reason to think of _that night_ in Hawke’s presence. His hand clenched shut for a moment, almost as though it could crush the next treacherous thought that crept into his mind: thinking about the ways he could warm her again.

      They ascended the stairs in silence, so that Fenris could hear the water squelching out of Hawke’s boots and dripping out of her hair and clothing. When they reached his rooms, he handed her a towel that had been hanging on the back of a chair. Like most of his household items, the towel was one that she had given him years ago.

      The grateful smile she gave him stopped him in his tracks. He could not fathom why he continued to allow her such power over him – if he had any sense he would have left Kirkwall long ago. And yet after almost three years he still followed her faithfully, content to stand in her shadow. He did not dare again to grasp at the happiness that was within his reach.

      But Hawke wouldn’t allow it. She pulled him back into the light time and time again, refusing to allow him to slink along behind her. Moreover, she never punished him for what he’d done, never treated him differently than before. He saw sadness in her eyes when she thought no one could see, but she never asked him why he’d left. They never spoke of _that night_.

      “Fenris… Fenris, you’re a thousand miles away tonight, aren’t you?” Hawke stood in front of the fireplace, smiling her quiet smile and then suddenly she threw the wet towel at him. He caught it out of reflex and found himself smiling back at her. Almost immediately he caught himself and went to his makeshift woodpile (some of it actual logs but mostly broken furniture), picking up some of the wood and throwing it into the fireplace. When he turned again she was sitting on a bench, looking at the flames thoughtfully.

      “Should I ask what you were doing out in the rain tonight?” he asked her quietly, staring into the fireplace himself. “Or do I want to know?”

      “It’s hard for me to sleep alone,” she answered absently, her cheeks coloring after she realized what she had said. “I mean… you know, after…”

      Fenris realized he was gripping his seat hard enough to splinter the wood. Was she truly going to mention…?

       “… my mother dying.” He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Of course she wasn’t talking about _that_. Why would she?

      “It’s just that things are so quiet without her. I mean, minus Sandal and Bohdan, of course. I just keep glancing at her room thinking she’ll come out of it like nothing’s wrong. Or worse, that she’ll… she’ll look like…”

     “I am sorry,” Fenris said quietly, wishing he could spare her the memories.

      “Not your fault,” she answered, smiling at him again. Smiling as though she wasn’t in pain, as though none of it affected her. How could she still be so kind to him, to _everyone_ after all that she had lost? More to the point, how could she still stand to _look_ at him after all that he put her through?

      Hawke stood abruptly, stretching her arms above her hand and standing on her toes for a moment. “Felt good to sit down for a bit,” she said brightly. “Now that I’m dry I’m ready to get myself back home.”

      She was halfway to the stairs before Fenris caught up with her. He took hold of her arm in the same place she’d touched him those years ago, right at the inside of her elbow. Her still cool skin felt as soft as silk.

      “Hawke…” What would he say? _I am sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose someone – I lost you._ Maybe even _please stay with me._

      Her mask cracked and for a second he saw all the pain written on her face, threatening to spill out. “I’ll be fine, Fenris. I always am.” Deftly she slipped out of his grip and was out the door before he could say any of the things he wanted to say, the things he didn’t know how to say.


	2. In the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke goes missing, and Fenris realizes what it would mean to lose her.

      Fenris sat glaring into the smoldering coals of his fireplace. Despite the room’s chill, he didn’t bother to get up and stoke it. Hawke was supposed to have turned up for his reading lesson four hours ago, and yet he still sat waiting for her. She had never once missed their appointed time or even been late. The unwelcome thought passed through his head that perhaps she had finally tired of his presence, or more likely, his slow sounding out of words and his measured, shaky writing.

       After pacing his rooms for a while, unable to fix upon a task, Fenris thought about staying away from the Hanged Man for Varric’s usual card night. But that resolution lasted all of five minutes - he would go after all, and ask Hawke why she had not come. Before he left, he considered leaving the boots and cloak she had bought him, but the biting air outside melted his petulant stubbornness away.

      But when Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man, Hawke was not there. Everyone looked up from their drinks when he reached the suite. “We thought she’d be with you, Broody,” Varric remarked. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

 

      “Nor have I,” Merrill piped up. “She was supposed to visit me today and see what I’d been knitting, and she didn’t come. That’s not like her. Hawke always keeps her promises.”

       “She didn’t come to… I have not seen her,” Fenris admitted.

       “Has _anyone_ seen her?” Varric asked, looking around the table.

       “Not since yesterday morning,” Aveline said with a frown. The others concurred - none of them had seen Hawke for a day or more, and that in itself was unusual. After a few uneasy drinks, Aveline banged her fist on the table and stood up. “That’s it, I’m going to the estate.”

      “Calm down, big girl,” Isabela said, tipping her chair back and lacing her hands behind her head. “So Hawke’s taken a day off for herself. It’s not exactly a cause for emergency.”

       “She’s been missing all day and you’re not worried at all?” Aveline snapped.

       “Just because you haven’t _seen_ her doesn’t mean she’s _missing_ _._ ”

      “Well I’m going anyway,” retorted Aveline. “You lot can stay here if you want.”

        Varric dealt out a few hands of cards, but none of the usual banter went around the table. They all looked up expectantly when Aveline came striding back into the suite less than an hour later. “Hawke’s manservant hasn’t seen her all day,” she announced without preamble. “He’s worried sick. Says some message came for her this morning and she went running out the door.” She slapped a fist into her palm. “I don’t like this. I think we should all look for her.”

      Varric frowned as he stood up. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts, call in some favors. Rivaini, see what you can find down at the docks. Blondie, you get down to Darktown. Daisy, go to the Alienage and ask around. Broody, you check around the markets.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope we’re just all missing each other and this ends up being a wild goose chase.”

     Fenris barely waited to hear the end of Varric’s sentence before he left the tavern. When he stepped outside ahead of the others, he cursed. Thick flakes of snow fell from the darkening sky, and the ground was rapidly being covered. The others filed silently past him, going their separate ways.

      He trudged alone through the empty markets, his breath puffing in white clouds in front of him. Memories of what had happened to Leandra jumped through his mind over and over again. But that this was _Hawke_. She couldn’t have been taken so easily. It had to be a misunderstanding. He searched for what felt like hours, but no clues turned up, and the few people out on the streets in this weather had not seen the Champion. As the sun went down, it got colder and the snow fell thicker until the drifts piled past his ankles. Despair clawed at him, but he fiercely pushed back at it again and again. _I will find her._

      The city had grown so quiet under its blanket of snow that Fenris almost didn’t hear Varric come up behind him. “I’ve got a lead,” he said grimly. “The others are on their way.”

      “Where?”

      Varric hesitated for a second. “The warehouse district.” Fenris’s fists clenched and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Varric tried to put a comforting hand on his arm. “Listen, Broody, it doesn’t mean - “

      “Let’s _go_ ,” Fenris snarled, already striding away through the snow. He could not allow himself to hold still or to think - if he did, the fear would paralyze him.

       By the time they reached the place Varric had indicated, Aveline and Merrill were already there. “This damned snow hides any clues we might find,” Aveline exclaimed angrily.

       “We don’t need clues,” Isabela said from around the corner, coming into view swathed in an enormous scarf and thick woolen pants. “I had to crack a few heads to get them to admit it, but some louts from the docks said they heard shouts and scuffling in that building there.”

       “How long ago?” demanded Fenris.

       “Earlier this afternoon. Didn’t have time to get more specific.”

       “Look, look!” Merrill wailed, pointing in horror at one of the walls, where a red smear marred the stone. She knelt down and cleared the snow at the base of the wall, where there was more blood frozen to the ground. No one bothered to hope that it might belong to anyone. The trail led straight to a small wooden door a few feet away.

       Aveline kicked the door in, and inside stood a large group of Dog Lords, many of them sporting fresh injuries. Their leader shouted a warning, but he was quickly cut down by Fenris’s blade. He moved like a ghost, not allowing himself to feel anything as he cut through the gang’s ranks. He heard nothing, not the clash of Aveline’s shield, not Merrill moving the very earth, not the clatter of crossbow bolts or the ring of daggers clashing against each other. All he heard was his own overly loud heartbeat, saying _where is she, where is she, where is she._

     The battle was over quickly, and Aveline grabbed the one man left alive by his shirt front. “Whose blood is that outside?” she demanded.

      The man blubbered, begging for his life, and Varric casually hefted Bianca towards him. “I’d tell her the whole story.” He kept his voice even, but his finger twitched on the trigger.

       “Oh come _on_ already.” Isabela stepped behind the man, twisted his arm behind him, and started bending his fingers backwards. “We don’t have time to be soft.”

       “All right!” he screamed. “It’s the Champion’s! We took her, Cor said we had to make an example - aarrghh!” Fenris was at his side quicker than thought, shoving Aveline aside and hoisting the man in the air.

      “Where is she?” he asked in a soft, deadly voice. His lyrium marks flared until they lit the whole room.

      “She got away,” the man sobbed, clawing at Fenris’s hands. “She fought like a demon, we couldn’t hold her -“

       “Liar!”

       “It’s true, I swear! I don’t know where she is now!” Blood bubbled suddenly out of his mouth when Fenris squeezed his heart right out of his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

       “Fan out,” Aveline said after a short silence. “Hawke could still be in here somewhere.”

       “Here!” Isabela shouted from the corner. “These are her gloves!”

       “And her daggers,” added Merrill, sounding as though she would burst into tears. “Oh, Mythal, there’s blood all over here.”

        They found a small side door around the corner with more blood smeared on the handle, this time fresh. They pushed it open and found faint footprints in the snow. “These footprints are only partially covered. If this is her, she can’t have gotten far,” Aveline called. Fenris pushed ahead, his heartbeat slamming painfully through his chest. The snow fell thicker than ever, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead.

      Suddenly he put his boot into something wet, something separate from the snow around it. He lifted his foot and it came up dripping red. His eyes followed the puddle’s trail in slow motion, where it dragged itself around an old pile of crates. _Hawke._

      She was lying face down with her body partially buried in the snow. Fenris slid to his knees next to her, suddenly unable to breath. He turned her over and cradled her head, desperate to see some sign of life, but her lips had gone a dull blue and she was so _still_. Blood still oozed out of a jagged slash across her chest, and bruises trailed up her throat and onto her face.

      Hawke coughed weakly when he pulled her close to his chest. “Here!” Fenris shouted over his shoulder. “She’s here!” The others were there in an instant, crowding around them in dismay. He heard their voices as if from far away, questioning and ordering, but everything in his world was centered around Hawke.

      Fenris undid the clasp of his fur-lined cloak with one hand, and wrapped it around Hawke’s body before picking her up and setting off towards Hightown. Halfway to the estate, her eyes fluttered open briefly and he felt her body go stiff with fear.

       “Hawke -” he said quietly. When she didn’t relax, he bent his head closer to hers and whispered, “Kyra. I am here.”

        “Knew you’d come,” she breathed. Her eyes closed and her whole body sagged in his arms. Fenris felt her words as a jolt to the heart. Part of him wanted to shake her and demand to know why she had such faith in him, but he simply tightened his grip on her and increased his pace.

       When they finally reached the estate, Anders was waiting with Isabela, who’d broken off from the group to fetch him from Darktown. Hawke had worsened - she’d opened her eyes a few more times on the way, but didn’t seem to know where she was, and she shivered violently no matter how tightly Fenris wrapped his cloak around her. Anders took over with grim efficiency, instructing Orana get Hawke out of her wet clothes and dressed in fresh ones

      When Fenris laid Hawke on her bed, Anders instructed all of them to leave the room. Fenris didn’t realize that his tattoos were glowing until he saw Orana’s frightened face, frozen in the act of cutting away Hawke’s shirt with a pair of scissors. Isabela suddenly blocked his view with a hard look on her face.

       “You’re not helping her by staying,” she told him in a low voice. “Let Anders work.”

      Fenris paced back and forth in the main foyer, watched nervously by Merrill. Isabela stared into the fire in the study, and Varric sat next to her. Aveline had left with her guards to investigate the gang’s lair. Hours passed, and there was no sound or sign of life from Hawke’s room. Anders and Orana finally came out near midnight, both of them completely exhausted.

       “She’ll be all right,” was all that Anders said before he flopped down on the couch with one arm over his eyes. “It was close, but she’s going to live.” Fenris didn’t stay to hear more but ran to take the stairs two at a time.

        The bedroom smelled of elfroot and the cool tang of healing magic, and the fire had been stoked to send blazing warmth through the room. Hawke lay sleeping under a pile of blankets on the bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow. She stirred and opened her eyes when Fenris closed the door.

       “Hello,” she said weakly. “I suppose I kicked up a lot of fuss, didn’t I?”

       Fenris did not trust himself to speak. Instead he crossed the room and sat in the chair by the bed, toying with the red scarf around his wrist.

     “Maker, I acted like a blighted damsel in distress,” she went on, not quite meeting his eyes. “It was probably a lot less dramatic than it looked, though. Anders has me all patched up and I’m going to be fine after some rest, no need to worry.”

      “ _Stop_ ,” Fenris snarled, clamping down on the scarf tightly enough to rip it. “You were bleeding your _life_ out and you nearly froze to death and yet you tell me not to worry!”

       Hawke winced and closed her eyes. “What else can I say, Fenris? I’m alive. I did something stupid, I suppose, but I lived.”

        “I should have been there!” he burst out, flinging the scarf to the floor and standing up to pace the room angrily.

        “I can take care of myself,” she retorted. “I didn’t have time to go get any of you, and I could hardly have known the whole thing was a trap!” The effect of her glare was rather spoiled by the fact that she could barely lift her head from the pillow.

       “That is not my point,” he said in a quieter voice. He sat down again and gently drew her hand out from under the covers. Her skin was usually so warm, but her fingers were still cold. Fenris remembered another night, one where her skin was cool from soaking spring rain. He remembered the way that he had not said the things he should have said that night. He would not be making that same mistake again.

      He put her hand in between both of his palms and rubbed it gently, trying to bring the warmth back. “It took you getting kidnapped for me to realize what a fool I’ve been. The time that I have been wasting.” He bowed his head and tightened his grip on her hand. “We have never spoken of that night… three years ago, where we….”

      “Fenris,” Hawke said quietly. She pressed a soft kiss to his hand. “We’ve both made mistakes. Let’s not dwell on them.”

      “I need to ask your forgiveness,” he insisted. “I should never have left you. If I could go back -

       “You can’t go back,” Hawke interrupted, pushing herself up with a grimace. “But we could go forward. If that’s what you want.” She glanced downward nervously, but curled her fingers around his more tightly.

      “If there is a future to be had, I would be glad to walk it by your side. No matter what.” At that, Hawke’s eyes snapped up again, and her smile returned, creeping over her face as slow and brilliant as a sunrise. Fenris felt any hint of cowardice inside of him melt away at the sight of it, and leaned forward to kiss her.

      Their kisses three years ago had been all fire and rough desperation, consuming both of them and leaving cold in their wake. This time, though, their lips moved together with an unspeakable tenderness and need that left both of them trembling. And when Hawke cupped Fenris’s cheek, deepening the kiss, he realized that her skin was finally warm.


End file.
